Favorite Ghost Stories-Pam Morris of Labyrinth Creations

I'm so glad that Pam Morris of Labyrinth Creations took the time out of her schedule to join us at the Nest again this year! I find her ghost story offering deliciously chilling!                 

Well, I could say it was a dark and stormy night, but it wasn't. And, despite the fact that I was a mere seven and a half years old, I distinctly recall each and every little detail. It was, as a matter of fact, just a few days before Christmas. This I know because a baby brother was born the 14th of December, and he was now ensconced in the little room next door to my brother's and mine. The excitement was building as the big holiday drew near and to vent some of it, my brother and I lay in our trundle beds and I made him listen to me sing carols. (And I have the worst voice in the world so perhaps I relieved some of my holiday 'stress' but I don't think I did much for my brother's.) I finally drifted off, my voice worn out and my brother already fast asleep.
Well, I could say, "when what to my wondering eyes did appear..." but that would imply I had seen something delightfully child-like and pleasant -- that was far from the truth. No, instead I woke up in a terrible sweat, hot, uncomfortable and--scared. My eyes frantically searched the room for some reason for my distress... I found it very quickly. In the doorway, swaying gently back and forth was a VERY tall cloaked figure--the kind of tall where the individual would have to duck his head beneath the door-jam before he could straighten up again. He (I say he because I KNEW it was a he) was dressed in a muted shade of grayish white, what I now know to be a monk's robe, hooded-- just a blackness where the face should be. He said nothing. He merely stood there--just inside our room with only the slightest bit of movement and then he slowly 'floated' into our new baby brother's room.

Well, I could say I bravely sounded the alarm to my parents, but I didn't. I seemed to be voiceless and despite nearly dying of heat, I did what any sensible child would do and yanked the covers all the way up to my eyeballs. I waited. It seemed like for a very long time. And then, he floated back into our room--never coming past the doorway-- just hovering there and watching. This was repeated twice more and when he finally disappeared into the baby's room, I went for it. I gathered every ounce of my child's courage and I did it, man, I jumped out of bed, and ran screaming and yelling into my parents' room, "There's a man in Andy's room! There's somebody in there!"

Well, I could say my parents gently shushed me and told me I was just having a bad dream, a nightmare, but they didn't. My terror was so genuine, the sweat glistening off of me, my eyes wide as saucers, that my father took one look at me, jumped out of bed and ran for my brother's room. After a short time, all the lights turned on, he returned, looked at me closely and said, "Pammy, there's nothing there". And yet, he knew I had seen SOMETHING. There was no chastisement, nothing more said. (I did, however, get to spend the rest of the night in my parents' bed, safely snuggled between them.)Well, I could say that my child's imagination got the better of me, that the next day I just blew off the whole experience, but that wasn't the case. I have never had a dream or encounter even remotely like the one that night, and I am very far from childhood. No, I remain convinced that what I saw, I saw. I did indeed see a ghost.

And yet today I consider myself fortunate to have had that experience (especially since I lived to tell of it). I will never forget that extraordinary fear, the extreme terror I experienced that night. What a rush. Perhaps that's why I'm a dark and macabre artist; why I have loved Halloween for as long as I can remember and now take such delight in scaring the %#*! out of people at my little "Home Haunt". What a feeling... what a rush!